


And Then Something New Will Begin

by strawberry_pills



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, fluff with slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25093207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberry_pills/pseuds/strawberry_pills
Summary: A story where Hermione Granger and Lucius Malfoy continually cross paths and fall in love. Seven cities. Seven years. Seven encounters.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy
Comments: 32
Kudos: 66





	1. Vienna, 2001

[[i found a reason | cat power]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHivF_5EFbM)

**Vienna, 2001.**

It was the first time Hermione Granger saw him after the war. She was sitting outside a nice, little café on the outskirts of the University of Vienna, waiting for the lecture to start when he passed by her peripheral vision.

She nearly looked away in disinterest, almost didn’t recognize him if it weren’t for the cane. That shiny, slender cane that used to haunt her dreams. _Clack, clack, clack._ But instead of clutching the steel head of a serpent with his gloved hand, all Hermione could see was a plain platinum tip, nearly the same shade as his hair.

 _His hair._ That was what really made Hermione do a double-take. The once long and willowy hair was now cropped short, just right above his ear. It almost made her mourn the loss. Why oh why did he cut his hair? Reinvention? Boredom? Was it high maintenance? Did he lose a dare?

Hermione continued to observe his movement with mild interest. Her form was slightly obscured by a pole that supported the canopy of the café. She watched him keenly until he turned around a corner and disappeared to Merlin knows where. What was Lucius Malfoy doing here?

She didn’t hear much about the Malfoys after the war. Hermione was too busy with her job as the head researcher for the Ministry’s R&D Department to pay the gossip section of the Prophet any attention. The only article she read about them was his and Narcissa’s divorce. It was amicable, the papers say. Draco also gave a statement saying that it was bound to happen. That his parents were only together by obligation—nothing more.

Since then, Hermione didn’t hear much about them. Lucius and Narcissa faded away from the public eye except perhaps Draco. Out of all the people, it was Ron who developed a friendship of sorts with the young Malfoy.

Ron was a tight mess after the war. Fred’s death really did something to him. He pushed everyone away—his family, Harry, and most especially Hermione. She tried everything she could but Ron put the final nail in the coffin when he told her he didn’t love her anymore.

She knew he was lying, of course, but the fact that he was capable of saying it to her face? That hurt, hard.

So she kept her distance. Maybe that’s what Ron needed all along. Some alone time to reflect on things. But months went by and down the rabbit hole he still fell. Not even Molly could reach out to him anymore. That’s when Draco came in. But that’s another story for another time.

Hermione checked her watch. Only seven minutes left before the lecture starts. She dropped a few loose changes beside the empty coffee cup before grabbing her coat and making her way back to the university.

* * *

The lecture hall was already packed by the time Hermione entered the room. Witches and wizards were in deep talks about the topic to be discussed today. Hermione sat by one of the only two vacant seats on the third row near the aisle. She was flipping through her notes when a deep male voice interrupted her.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

“No,” she absentmindedly said, not bothering to look up as she started planning for her next research.

“Thank you,” the man replied. Hermione heard the rustling of clothes—a coat being placed on the backrest. And then a clicking sound, like a stick—no a cane being leaned between their seats. A cane?

Her head whipped up instantly and then she knew, just a fraction of a second before her whiskey-colored eyes landed on his sleet grey orbs that it was him.

He was wearing a dark grey jumper, the ends tucked inside his finely pressed black trousers. His feet were encased in a pair of well-polished oxfords. He looked so… Muggle. Hermione can’t help but shudder at the thought.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she said, almost a whisper. A furrow formed between her brows while her lips parted slightly in surprise. Even in the dim artificial light of the lecture hall, Hermione noticed how there were specks of blue and green in his eyes—like the sky and the forest mingling together. The combination of the colors made her mind blank, her heart skipping a beat or two. It was beautiful, she wanted to weep.

“Ms. Granger,” he greeted. Surprise colored his features too but unlike Hermione, Lucius Malfoy quickly recovered. A small smile, just the tiniest bit of crease on the corners of his lips graced his face and Hermione swore her internal organs stopped working altogether. Why was she reacting this way to him all of a sudden?

 _What are you doing here?_ Is what she wanted to say but her mind and her mouth somehow disconnected along the way and what she actually said was, “What did you do to your hair?”

His hand immediately came up, patting the side of his now short-cropped hair. It made him look like that British actor she and Ginny saw in a film they watched a week ago. Was it James? Jamie? Jason? Yes, Jason Isaacs! A blond and better dressed version of the actor.

“I had it cut?” he answered uncertainly. Malfoy’s brows furrowed, mirroring her earlier expression. And then his lips turned into an exaggerated moue of sorts. It’s ridiculous, Hermione thought. It made her want to slap his mouth—with her mouth. “Why? Does it look bad?”

Look bad? Honestly? No. It actually made him look years younger especially when he’s pouting at her like that. But does she miss the long, silky locks? Definitely. But it’s a secret she’ll never share with him. Over her dead Avada Kedavra-ed body.

“No. Just not used to it, that’s all,” she shrugged nonchalantly. That’s right Granger. Act like you’re not affected by a mere hair. “So, what brings you here?”

He jerked a thumb to the front of the lecture hall where the speaker is now stepping up to the podium. “The lecture,” Malfoy simply said and Hermione wanted to hit her face with her hands.

Of course.

The lecture.

Two minutes with Mr. I-Came-For-The-Lecture Malfoy and her brain already turned to mush. Pathetic.

The lights dimmed and the speaker began the discussion. Hermione pressed herself back in her seat, willing her entire attention to the lecture.

The topic was about parallel universes and its correlation to time-traveling. Hermione managed to completely immerse herself and forget about the dashing man beside her who was also busy scribbling on a small notebook on his lap.

“The mirror world, assuming it exists, would have its own laws of mirror-physics and its own mirror-history. You wouldn’t find a mirror version of yourself there,” a collective moan of disappointment could be heard across the room including the wizard beside Hermione. The speaker pressed on. “But current theory allows that you might find mirror atoms and mirror rocks, maybe even mirror planets and stars. Collectively, they could form an entire shadow world, just as real as our own but almost completely cut off from us.”

“But do you think it’s possible?” she heard him whisper low enough for only her to hear. “Do you think there’s a parallel version of us out there?”

Hermione remembered the times she had to avoid her own self when she was using the time turner back in Hogwarts. She surrendered it, of course, when she graduated. But to see it again when her boss tasked her on researching for other uses of time turners made her giddy with excitement. This lecture was just the first among the many research she will be conducting.

“I do think it’s possible,” she replied.

“So, do you think there’s a parallel universe somewhere where I wasn’t a stupid bigot who made mistakes after mistakes?”

The question took her completely off guard. Hermione looked up to see Lucius Malfoy staring ahead, face impassive. You would think he’s relaxed by his expression and body posture but Hermione noticed the way his jaw was set into a hard line and how tight his eyes looked.

A fully reformed, repentant Lucius Malfoy? It was a bit jarring, but not surprising considering he hadn’t made a condescending remark about her blood or even a snobbish remark about her persona since they met. Hermione didn’t count that I-Came-For-The-Lecture reply because it was—for the lack of a better term—so stupid of her to even ask it in the first place. And it was she who made the idiotic question about his hair. Pathetic, really. Godric save her.

Hermione realized that Malfoy was actually looking at her now. His grey eyes boring into her, still expecting an answer. She looked down at the notes on her lap, unsure of the answer to give him.

“I don’t know, Mr. Malfoy,” and then she felt her heart deflate when a look of sadness crossed his features. Hermione quickly tried to backtrack as best as she could. “But you don’t need a parallel universe to know that version of yourself. All you need is this universe. It’s never too late to change. The fact that you’re aware of your… shortcomings is already a step in the right direction.”

He seemed to mull it over for a moment. Then he smiled and Hermione felt herself mirroring him.

“I hope you’re right, Ms. Granger.”

“I usually am,” she replied cheekily. “They don’t call me The Brightest Witch of Her Age for nothing.”

Lights suddenly flooded the entire room, signaling the end of the lecture. Hermione packed her things and slipped on her coat, her seatmate doing the same. She wanted to go over and thank the speaker but he was surrounded by a gaggle of witches and wizards clamoring for a bit of time to have some unresolved questions answered. So she and Lucius both exited the room together instead and headed their way outside the university in silence.

“So, how long are you staying here?” it was Lucius Malfoy who broke the silence.

“I’m actually heading back to Whitehall today. I have a portkey that will activate in less than an hour,” she said. “I still have to submit a report to my boss about the lecture.”

And there it was again. The great moue of sadness. It’s like she took away his prized candy or something! Unbelievable.

“And you? Are you staying here for a few days?”

He nodded. “I’m meeting a new supplier tomorrow for the company’s potions manufacturing branch. The lecture was just a bonus.”

Hermione realized she had no idea where in Merlin’s name they were headed but she didn’t care. It was nice. Walking along a quiet street with a friend. Is that what Lucius Malfoy is now to her? A friend? Hermione shook her head. Maybe not. Acquaintance is probably the best term.

“What’s wrong with your old supplier?”

“They were charging too much.”

“Of course,” was all she said. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. They finally stopped walking and Hermione looked up to see a posh hotel in front of her.

“This is me,” he said. Did she just walk Lucius Malfoy home? Oh, but she did. And judging by the way he was smirking at her, he knew too. Bastard. “It was nice meeting you again, Ms. Granger, under pleasant circumstances this time.”

“It was nice meeting you too, Mr. Malfoy,” oddly enough, Hermione meant it. “I better go now.”

Hermione started walking away back to the direction they came from but before she could turn around the next corner, she heard him call her.

“Ms. Granger,” Lucius Malfoy jogged towards her. “Call me Lucius.”

He lifted her left hand and pressed a gentle kiss on the back of it. The minute his lips made contact with her skin, Hermione felt the sudden jolt of electricity to her heart, jumpstarting it to beat twice fast.

“In that case, you should call me Hermione,” she managed to say.

“Hermione,” he repeated, testing how it felt on his tongue. And then he smiled, a cheeky kind of smile that reached his eyes. “Have a safe trip.”

Hermione watched him walk away. Watched his back till it disappeared in her line of vision. She briefly wondered if it was just her imagination. Like that weird Muggle film she and Ginny often watch on the weekends where the protagonist just conjured everything up in his mind.

She ran a hand across the back of her hand, across the part of the skin he kissed. No, it was real alright.

Hermione went back to Whitehall with a goofy smile on her face. One that made her co-worker do a double-take.


	2. New York, 2002

[[let me follow | son lux]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xv0M-5RUFQM)

**New York, 2002.**

Hermione stood on a corner of the function hall timidly sipping her second glass of champagne. Three days ago, Kingsley Shacklebolt asked her and Harry along with a few other important Ministry officials to accompany him to a conference in America. The purpose of this visit was to strengthen the Ministry’s foreign relations.

Hermione was excited, of course. While her work required her to travel a lot, it didn’t really leave her much room to enjoy these places. Time is of the essence with the majority of her research.

The conference was both informative and stressful at the same time. She realized immediately that the American wizarding community was far less tolerant of Muggles—or No-Majs as they called them—and they enforced strict segregation of either community thus, there was no cooperation between the No-Maj government and MACUSA.

It was disheartening, really, but Kingsley told her it was not in their place to question the MACUSA about it. They’re here to build bridges, not tear it down apart. Her mood took a huge shit dive from there and now here she stood, wishing she could go back home and start conducting on her current research.

“There you are!” Harry clumsily ambled through the crowd towards her. “You left me with those people! I felt like an antique being appraised!”

“Sorry,” she mumbled sheepishly. When people were starting to crowd them, Hermione skillfully feigned going to the loo, throwing Harry to the den of wolves. She’ll make it up to him when they get back.

“It’s so dark here! I can barely see past ten feet of me! Why they chose to host a party in this place is beyond me,” Harry complained, then stuck a finger inside his collar. “And I hate this suit! It’s itchy and I feel like it’s choking me.”

Hermione reached out and loosened his bow tie a bit. It was a suit and tie event, so the tux was mandatory. “There, feel better?”

Harry nodded glumly, “I do hope Kingsley had achieved what he came here to do.”

“By the looks of it, I think he did,” her glance went to Kingsley on the other end of the room, happily chatting with MACUSA’s current president, Samuel G. Quahog.

“Wait,” Harry said. Hermione looked up to see him staring in the other direction. “Is that who I think it is?”

Lucius Malfoy stood on the other end of the function room. His hair was still the same length as the last time she saw him in Vienna. He was wearing a tux too and Hermione can’t help but think of him as that Muggle British spy with the special powered suit she and Ginny saw in the cinema a few days ago. He looked so good in it, the suit hugging his body parts in all the right places.

“What is he doing here? And who is that woman with him?” Harry continued his line of questioning. It became an annoying habit of his ever since he became an Auror.

Hermione's eyes flickered to the beautiful blonde witch with the striking blue eyes who was clutching Lucius' arm. They make a breathtaking pair, she thought dispiritedly.

“His date?” she shrugged, ignoring the sinking feeling in her gut. Hermione wouldn’t even dare name the feeling. Nope.

“He sure has a type,” Harry muttered then looked down at his champagne flute. “My glass is empty.”

“Mine too,” she took Harry's glass and proceeded to go to the bar for a refill. Somehow, the refilling magic doesn’t work, requiring everyone to either go to the bar or wait for a passing server. Hermione didn’t have the patience for the latter. “Wait here.”

“But—”

“Wait. Here,” she insisted. “No one will notice you here and if someone did, then run for the loo.”

Hermione didn’t wait for an answer and proceeded to make her way to the bar, muttering a string of apologies as she bumped from one person to another. Damn this party and its dim lighting.

She was frustrated by the time she reached the counter. Hermione flagged down a bartender for a refill but decided to change her mind. She needed something stronger to survive this night.

“On second thought, change the other drink to a whiskey, neat. Make it double.”

The bartender pulled out a shot glass and proceeded to fill it with whiskey. Hermione eyed the drink warily before lifting the glass to her lips and gulping it in one go.

The alcohol left a burning trail down her throat. Her eyes immediately watered, not used to drinking something this strong but felt proud of herself at the same time for not coughing.

“That kind of drink should be savored and enjoyed, not gulped down like that,” she heard someone say behind her. Hermione whirled around to tell the person off but stopped when she realized it was Lucius Malfoy smiling amusedly at her. Her mouth remained hanging open, her hand poised to jab the supposedly offending person on the chest.

She'd seen him a handful of times around the Ministry since their encounter in Vienna but Hermione never got the chance to approach him. The man walked so fast, it looked like he was gliding. And now here he was, practically standing before her like a Christmas present.

She closed her mouth, her jaw snapping with an audible click. “Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione greeted automatically.

Lucius cocked his head to the side. “I thought we agreed on calling each other by our first names?”

“Sorry,” she said. “I was just surprised to see you here. Did Kingsley invite you too?”

“No. I was actually in the neighborhood and came here as a plus one,” he jerked a thumb towards the blonde witch. His date.

“Oh, I see,” Hermione said indifferently. Grabbing Harry’s champagne flute, Hermione proceeded to head back. “Well, it was nice meeting you again, Lucius. I should let you get back to your date.”

She said it a little tersely than she should but her patience tonight is wearing thin. Hermione didn’t feel like dealing with an emotion so base.

To her surprise, Lucius laughed. Like a real laugh. The sound was so foreign to Hermione and she found her brows furrowing in confusion.

“She’s not my date,” he clarified, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Clarisse is a business partner and an old friend. Besides, you’re more her type than me. Beautiful, intelligent, and most of all, compassionate.”

“Oh,” Hermione didn’t know if she should react to the fact that the blonde witch was just a friend and is into women, or that Lucius called Hermione all those nice compliments. She felt her heart cave before pounding through her ribcage at full force. If it weren’t for the music floating in the background, she’s positive he would’ve heard it too. “I-I… uhh…”

“So what was the purpose of this visit that Kingsley had to pry you away from your beloved research?”

Hermione was glad for the change of topic. She’s positive that her face is already red from embarrassment. The two glasses of champagne and the double shot of whiskey didn’t really help, only making her face more flushed.

“Ah… uh… Kingsley said he wanted to uh… strengthen the Ministry’s foreign relations,” she said trying not to trip on her words.

“Playing the political game again, huh?” he mused. “So how was it?”

“It was awful! They hate Muggles more than the Purebloods back at home!” she cried before realizing her outburst. Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, looking horrified. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Lucius held up a hand. “There’s no need to apologize, Hermione. I understand. But may I provide some insight?” Hermione only nodded her head timidly, not trusting her mouth. “Unlike back home, American Muggles treated magical people with hostility, claiming our magic were gifts from the devil. When the Salem Witch Trials began, a lot of American witches and wizards fled to our homeland for asylum. That was when the Statute of Secrecy was recently implemented. Years of continuous persecution was what separated American Muggles from the magical people.”

“But surely Muggles would be more open to accepting us now?”

“That’s something I can never tell,” he shrugged but then he looked down at his feet like something was interesting going on the floor. Hermione heard a sigh before Lucius looked up to meet her eyes. “I never did apologize to you. For everything you went through by my hands and my former _comrades_.”

The last word was spoken with such venom that reminded Hermione of the previous Lucius Malfoy. The one who looked down at everyone, the one who hated everyone who isn’t a Pureblood with a burning passion.

“Unlike the American magical people, my ancestors believed that your kind were nothing more than thieves out to steal our magic. That belief was passed down to me the same way it was passed down to Draco. It was not an excuse and I should’ve known better that it wasn’t the case. The Malfoys were the most prominent family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. A lot of pain and suffering would’ve been avoided if I had soon realized how wrong that belief was.”

Like in Vienna, Hermione wanted to comfort him, to tell him that the fact that he’s acknowledged his wrongs and is trying to change for the better now is what matters. She’d heard of the numerous charities he’d funded back home and the fact that he’s a regular donator to the Ministry’s R&D Department enabling Hermione to pursue even the most obscure information out there.

“What made you change?” was what Hermione said instead. She had to know. Human psychology dictates that for a person to change his beliefs so drastically and instantly, a forceful phenomenon would have occurred.

“The trial.”

“When Harry testified for Draco and Narcissa?” It made sense. It was Lucius’ only redeeming quality at that time—his extreme devotion to his family. The only reason why Hermione didn’t completely see him as a monster.

But Lucius shook his head no, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “No. It was actually when you testified on my behalf.”

Hermione blinked her eyes. “Me?” she blinked again for good measure.

“You don’t really know the impact you have on people, do you?”

But before Hermione could form a thought, Harry’s unmistakable whine reached her ears. “Hermione! You left me _again_! I’ve been waiting for ages—oh.”

“Mr. Potter,” Lucius nodded his head in greeting.

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy,” Harry greeted him cordially. Hermione raised an eyebrow at her best friend in question but Harry ignored her, grabbing the champagne flute from her hand instead.

The three of them continued to talk for a while, discussing Hermione’s current research project, Harry’s latest case (only the non-confidential ones), and Lucius’ current business venture which is actually helping Draco, Ron, and George expand their jokeshop business internationally. Hermione heard from Ginny that they’re thinking of opening a franchise store somewhere in Southeast Asia but nothing has been finalized yet.

It was nearly midnight and almost half of the crowd already went home when Harry told Hermione that they should head back to the hotel. The portkey that’ll take them back in London will activate by seven in the morning.

She noticed a flicker of a shadow crossed Lucius’ features but Hermione chalked it up to the alcohol in her system making her vision a bit fuzzy.

“In that case, I bid you farewell. It was nice talking to you, Mr. Potter, Hermione,” at the casual mention of her first name, it was Harry’s turn to raise an eyebrow at his best friend. Lucius shook Harry’s hand while giving the back of Hermione’s hand a fleeting kiss. She felt a jolt of electricity course through her vein, pretty much the same way she felt when he kissed her hand in Vienna.

And like Vienna, Hermione watched him walk away.

But unlike Vienna, Hermione felt herself taking a step forward and then another, ignoring Harry who was giving her a questioning look.

“Lucius,” she called. He turned around and was surprised to find her standing so close to him.

Borrowing courage from whatever alcohol that’s left in her system, Hermione leaned forward, her hands resting on his shoulder for support (even in heels, he’s still taller than her) and kissed him briefly on the cheek.

“Goodnight, Lucius,” she whispered before turning around and dragging Harry away to the exit.

Hermione missed the tender look Lucius gave her, his hand cupping the cheek where she kissed him, as he watched her walk away.


	3. Tokyo, 2003

[[i found | amber run]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yj6V_a1-EUA)

**Tokyo, 2003.**

Hermione Granger looked down at the slip of parchment in her hand then back at the sign in front of her and then back again at the parchment, making sure that she apparated at the right place.

Draco told her the jokeshop is unplottable yet since it’s smack in the middle of Muggle Tokyo, deep in the heart of Shinjuku—one of Tokyo’s busiest commercial and business district ( _The Muggles here are a curious lot, Granger!_ ). He said it’ll take a while to arrange the necessary papers but at least the closest apparition point is quite near the place. _You won’t miss it,_ George assured her.

“You won’t miss it,” Hermione mimicked George sarcastically. She’d been going in circles around the area for about thirty minutes now and had cursed them in her mind for about a thousand times. “I’m going to Bat-Bogey Hex those two into the next millennia.”

If she were being honest with herself, the only reason she agreed to come here in the first place was because of a certain blond wizard.

Ever since that impromptu goodnight kiss on the cheek back in New York nearly a year ago, Hermione couldn’t stop thinking about Lucius Malfoy that it nearly turned her into a paranoid fit. Her heart would frantically pump twice faster every time she would catch sight of something blond and flashes of it would haunt her in her dreams.

She only saw him twice after New York. Both encounters were within the halls of the Ministry but both of them were busy with their respective work to even manage a minute of conversation, only nodding their heads in greeting as they passed each other by.

There was no denying that she’s deeply infatuated with the Malfoy patriarch. The signs are all over and it wouldn’t take a genius such as herself to figure it out. And what’s worse? Harry knew. The moment she and Harry got back to their hotel room that night, the git practically used his Auror training in interrogation to extract the truth out of her, something Hermione wasn’t aware herself at that time. Self-revelation is a bitch.

She thought this infatuation would fade over time but weeks turned to months and Hermione only felt it taking root within her. The more she tried to get Lucius Malfoy out of her mind, the deeper her thoughts of him manifested.

Hermione remembered that raspberry pip that got lodged in her back tooth when she was nine. She tried flossing it out—something she tended to avoid, hating the feeling of thread forced between teeth—but she couldn't reach it. And then after half an hour of poking at it with a toothpick, she was no closer to getting it out. A half an hour more and Hermione realized she'd driven it in deeper. When she felt her gums swelling the next day, she finally told her parents and, being dentists, they were horrified at finding out. Hermione was grounded from eating sweets for an entire month.

She wondered what her parents (considering if she could bring their memories back) would say now if she told them she’s developing feelings for someone twenty-five years her senior. Someone who used to be on the wrong side of the war. Would they be horrified? Would they forbid her from seeing him?

 _Seeing him._ Hermione scoffed. As if they were dating. For all she knew, he only saw her as his son’s friend whom he occasionally bumped into once a year. He probably had a line of beautiful witches fighting to gain his attention. Witches Weekly’s last month’s issue declared him Britain’s Most Eligible Bachelor. Harry shoved the magazine to her one day. _For inspiration_ , he said. Hermione looked down to see Lucius’ dazzling smiling face on the front cover. Until now, that magazine was safely tucked inside the desk drawer in her office. 

“You look lost,” a deep male voice said behind her, interrupting her thoughts. She stopped for a moment. An English speaker, finally!

Hermione turned around only to come face to face with her current emotional dilemma—Lucius Malfoy himself. He was wearing a casual black Muggle suit and in his hand was his ever-present cane. Hermione noticed his hair had grown a bit. It was swept sideways, reaching down, curling below his ears. Circe’s tits, her dreams didn’t do him justice.

He smelled like the sultry air after a thunderstorm—a mix of sandalwood, and the sea with an undercurrent of spice. It was intoxicating. Hermione had a sudden thought that if she were to take a whiff of Amortentia, this is what she’s going to smell.

“I am, metaphysically, but aren’t we all just a little?” she replied a little breathlessly as she looked into his eyes. Hermione could feel herself actually getting lost in them.

Lucius smiled, the kind of smile that gave a twinkle in his eyes, making him a decade younger. Then he held out his arm for her to take, “Well, then, shall we go get lost together?”

Hermione tentatively slipped her arm around his, feeling his warmth through the thick layer of clothes. They walked in silence to their destination, content in each other’s presence. Hermione will tell him one day, if she ever got the chance, that this was the moment she started to fall in love with him.

* * *

The place was already packed with customers by the time they arrived. Most of it were students from Mahoutokoro School of Magic. The guests were a mixture of Draco, Ron, and George’s friends. It was odd to see former schoolmates from all four houses of Hogwarts together in one place.

Hermione was standing with Harry, Ginny, and Ron. They were regaling Ginny with some stories about the things the trio frequently got up to back in Hogwarts. It was actually the inspiration behind some of the jokeshop’s latest inventions.

“Remember that time when we almost got caught in Hagrid’s hut back in third year?” Ron said in between fits of laughter. It was nice seeing him laughing this carefree again. Even if they were only friends now, Hermione still cared about Ron deeply. They had gone through so much together and that kind of love doesn’t really go away.

“Oh, I remember that!” Harry replied. “I could’ve sworn Mr. Malfoy saw us through the Invisibility cloak.”

All four of them glanced in the direction the Malfoy patriarch was standing. He was currently being harassed by Molly Weasley about something. Hermione stifled a chuckle at look of abject horror on his face.

A nudge in the elbow startled her. “Go talk to him,” Ginny said.

Hermione nearly dropped the masu of sake she’s holding. “I’m not— what are you—” she spluttered, unable to form a straight sentence. Then she looked at Harry who was stifling a giggle. “You told them!” she hissed in indignation.

“I did no such thing.”

“You’ve been sneaking glances in his direction the entire time, Hermione. You’re not actually subtle,” Ron piped up.

“You’d make a terrible Auror,” Harry seconded.

Was she that obvious? “Oh god, this can’t be happening,” she groaned, palming her face with her other hand.

“I don’t see why you’re so embarrassed about it,” Ginny sighed before taking a sip from her masu cup. “The man is a walking, talking sex on a stick.”

Harry glanced warily at his wife. “Gin… should I be worried?”

“No, babe,” Ginny reached out and pinched his cheek. Shen then turned her attention to Hermione whose cheeks were sporting a bright shade of red. “So, how long have you two been dating?”

“We’re not dating!” Hermione said defensively then she sighed in resignation, looking down at her shoes. “I don’t think he sees me that way. We’re just friends.”

“Oh, come on,” Ginny threw her hands up. The boys beside her stepped away in fear of being spilled with sake. “You can’t be that obtuse, Hermione.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been sneaking glances in your direction too when you’re not looking,” Harry said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you two were really dating. You two even came here together.”

“It’s nearly making me gag,” Ron rolled his eyes. “The great Lucius Malfoy, pining after War Heroine Hermione Granger. How the mighty have fallen.”

“Hey! Don’t be an arse,” Ginny slapped Ron on the shoulder. “Be the supportive ex you’re supposed to be.”

Hermione suddenly felt overwhelmed. She excused herself from her friends and stepped outside for a moment, leaving them happily bickering.

Even at night, the city was alive. Bright neon signs bombarded the skies while the ground was bustling with the busy crowd. Endless arteries of highway pulsing with the forward movement of countless vehicles in orderly flow. Above and below, the trains quietly run, always on time, breaking through the surface and diving back below. It’s so easy to get carried away in this place.

She found an empty bench in a little park not too far away from the shop and sat there, thinking. Thinking of what her friends had said, of what it implied. Is it possible that Lucius could actually feel the same? Or at the very least, a tiny bit of what she’s feeling for him? But he never gave any indication that proved so. He’d never paid her any visit nor even sent her an owl.

Once she had got over her heartbreak with Ron, Hermione had found solace in being alone. In certain areas of her life, she actively sought out solitude. Especially for someone in her line of work, solitude is, more or less, an inevitable circumstance (she might as well become an Unspeakable). Sometimes, however, this sense of isolation, like acid spilling out of a bottle, can unconsciously eat away at a person's heart and dissolve it. Hermione could see it, too, as a kind of double-edged sword. It protects her, but at the same time steadily cut away at her from the inside.

Lucius Malfoy’s sudden presence in her life amplified the loneliness she felt. Their talks, however brief gave her a glimpse of what it could be like if you found the right person. Is he the right person? At one point, Hermione thought that it was Ron but now? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that all her success in life meant nothing if there was no one she could share it with.

“A galleon for your thoughts?”

Hermione knew that voice now. She used to hear the thoughts inside her head with the same tone, timbre, accent as if the words were coming out of her mouth. And now it seemed her inner voice sounded like the voice speaking to her now.

She looked up to see Lucius Malfoy staring at her curiously.

“I don’t think my thoughts are worth a galleon,” she smiled as she scooted over, making room for him.

“Au contraire. Your thoughts most probably cost more than a mere galleon. One day you’re going to realize that.”

Hermione looked away. She didn’t have any words for that. “What brings you here? Were they looking for me?”

“Not really,” he said as he sat down beside her. “I had to escape Mrs. Weasley and used you as an excuse. I told her I needed to talk to you about time traveling and parallel universes.”

“And it worked?”

“No,” he frowned. “She tried to follow me. I asked Mr. Potter where you went and to my luck, he told me you stepped outside for some fresh air.”

“Luck is a funny thing,” she mused. “What was she harassing you about that you looked so horrified?”

“Same as everyone, I guess. Why I’m still single,” he said.

“Why are you?”

“Why are _you_?”

“Touché,” Hermione chuckled.

“So, what brings you out here?” he asked. "Were your friends harassing you too?"

“Oh, no, it's nothing. Just admiring the city while wondering about certain things,” she shrugged.

“What things?”

“Loneliness. Solitude. Is it always going to be like this?” she confessed.

“They say loneliness is like starvation: you don’t realize how hungry you are until you begin to eat.”

“I don’t know when this ‘hunger’ is going to end.”

“Consider this an end. And then something new will begin,” he smiled, taking her hand in him. “You deserve the best in life, Hermione. I know that sounds odd coming from a man who has brought you some of the worst, but I think it’s the reason why Mr. Weasley had to break up with you. He knows how much of a compassionate woman you are and how you wouldn’t hesitate to put his needs before you even if it held you back from achieving your dreams.”

Hermione wanted to counter the last statement but Lucius continued, giving her no chance to voice her thoughts out.

“Don’t despair. Someday, you will find someone who will make you happy and will love you as much. Someone who will fill the void. Because you deserve that. And it will come,” he said strongly and Hermione was deeply moved by his words and the conviction in his tone.

There was a brief moment where she thought he might actually kiss her but the thought vanished when Lucius looked away and up into the night.

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned her head on his shoulder instead. She sighed in contentment when he squeezed her hand a little tighter.

For now, everything seemed inconsequential. Her work, her friends, their surroundings all faded into the background. It doesn't matter if Lucius didn't reciprocate her feelings, if he only saw her as a friend. As long as he's in her life—that's all that mattered.

Hermoine squeezed his hand in return.

She doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.


	4. Florence, 2004

[[drop | hope sandoval & the warm inventions]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tMG6W-kPk6g)

**Florence, 2004.**

Hermione weaved through the crowds as best as she could without stumbling or bumping into anyone. It was only a week after Samhain and there was a feast of some sort going on in the Centro Storico where men and women were dressed to the hilt in Muggle renaissance clothing. She spied a banner with a Florentine lily stitched in the middle being waved in front of the procession.

For three weeks now, Hermione had been on a ‘forced’ holiday. According to her boss, she’d been working as head researcher for five years and prior to that, a junior researcher for two years and not once did she take any of her vacation leave. It had accumulated over the years and now she was due a very long holiday.

She took the vacation as an opportunity to find a cure to reverse her parents’ memories. One of her colleagues suggested two libraries that housed a great deal of books about mental witchcraft or malediction—one in Minsk and one in Trento. She’d been in Minsk in the past three weeks and found the travel very fascinating and worthwhile. Now she’s on her way to Trento but decided to make a stop first at Florence—Italy’s central Wizarding community—to take in the sights. After all, it is her vacation.

She pulled out a map from her beaded bag to make sure she’s headed in the right direction of the nearest apothecary shop. Before she could look up, a body crashed into her from behind, pitching her forward as she dropped the map. Hermione watched in helpless fury as it was promptly kicked into the fray, before being trampled by a herd of mazzieri. She felt something hard and metallic dig into her ribs; saw a flash of blond hair out the corner of her eye as she whirled around to confront the oaf, the beginnings of a curse forming on her lips. 

“Scusi, signora,” a large hand braced its owner against her as another wave of people jostled them closer together. The familiar scent of sandalwood and spice washed over her.

_Lucius?_

“Hermione?” Lucius Malfoy looked at her in complete surprise. He was wearing a linen dress shirt, loose beige ankle pants, and a pair of leather sandals. _His feet, my goodness!_ His cane was also tightly clutched in his left hand. Hermione noticed the specks of blue and green in his eyes looked even more vibrant in the afternoon light. The colors still carrying with it the ability to make her mind blank, her heart skip a beat.

They were pressed awkwardly against each other, an island of two in an endless rolling sea. The still point in the ever-turning world.

“I thought you were in Prague?” she asked, confused to see him here in Florence amongst the Muggles.

They’ve been exchanging owls since that night in Tokyo over a year ago and they made the effort to see each other for coffee whenever their schedule would allow it which was very seldom but Hermione treasured and enjoyed those quiet and rare moments. The last owl he sent her was two days before she started her vacation, saying he’ll be in Prague for some time to conduct business and would not be able to owl her.

“I was. I just got here this morning,” he said as he held her elbows, preventing her from completely falling over. Hermione stifled a sigh at the contact. “Narcissa’s getting married.”

“Oh,” she didn’t know he and his ex-wife remained close. “Why are you here and not there?”

The answer came from a high-pitched voice calling out his name. “Lucius! There you are, caro mio!” Hermione heard Lucius muttered something under his breath while a heavy feeling settled in her gut.

A tall blonde woman emerged from the crowds and immediately latched herself onto Lucius’ arms, nearly shoving Hermione out of the way. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! The wedding is about to begin,” then she noticed Hermione standing there glaring at them. “And who is this?”

“This is Hermione Granger,” Lucius introduced her.

“Is she… is she like—” the woman made some weird gestures with her hands

“Yes, she’s a witch like Narcissa,” Lucius confirmed. Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise. A Muggle? As if sensing her inner questions, Lucius turned to face her. “Hermione, this is Francesca Guidicelli. A cousin of Narcissa’s betrothed.”

The woman reached out and kissed Hermione on both cheeks. “Piacere! You’re coming to the wedding, yes?” The question was immediately seconded by an eager looking Lucius.

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t want to impose,” she said unsure.

“Nonsense! Any friend of Lucius is welcome!” Francesca was now dragging her in a different direction. Hermione looked back to see Lucius trailing behind, a soft smile on his lips.

* * *

“Granger?” Draco Malfoy was squatting by the rose bushes, picking a couple of flowers when he spotted Hermione Granger being dragged by the Muggle woman who had been following his father all day. He stood up and dusted his trousers before approaching them. “What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to go to Trento?”

“I decided to do some sight-seeing first,” she said. “Then I ran into Lucius in the plaza.”

“It was actually me who ran into her,” Lucius gave her an apologetic smile.

“And I invited her to the wedding!” Francesca piped in. “C’mon, Lucius!”

The blonde woman started dragging Lucius to the back of the villa where the wedding will take place, a look of complete horror on his face. Draco was trying so hard not to laugh while Hermione just looked on dejectedly.

“You still haven’t told him, have you?” Draco asked Hermione who was still looking at the corner where Lucius disappeared to.

“It doesn’t matter, Draco. I'm not going to pretend I'm the type of girl he would consider more than a friend,” she sighed. “He and Francesca looked good together even if she’s a Muggle.”

“You know, for someone who claims to be the Brightest Witch of Her Age, you could be a bit dense,” Draco snorted.

“Are you calling me an idiot?” she huffed. Crossing her arms across her chest.

“Yes, I’m calling you an idiot. Everyone with a pair of perfectly working eyes can see how father is so besotted with you. You’re practically the only person who couldn’t see it.”

“We’re just good friends, Ferret,” she scoffed. “Don’t look much into it.”

“Denial—not just another river in Egypt,” Draco sang as he proceeded to head inside leaving Hermione standing and more confused than ever.

* * *

The wedding was a lively affair, held in the Muggle way, much to Hermione’s surprise. According to Draco, Narcissa met the groom, Arnald, while shopping in Milan two years ago and the two hit it off instantly despite Arnald being a Muggle. But as it turns out, two of his relatives were wizards so it wasn’t that hard for Narcissa to reveal her magical heritage. Hermione cried as the bride and the groom exchanged vows as the sun began to set.

When the ceremony ended, everyone headed back inside to change their outfit. The reception had a The Great Gatsby theme so Hermione was forced to magically alter her clothes to fit in. She’s now sitting dejectedly at the bride’s side of the table along with Draco. Lucius was nowhere in sight.

“Ms. Granger! I’m glad you decided to stay for the reception,” Narcissa said she approached their table, giving Hermione a kiss on the cheek in greeting.

“Call me Hermione, please,” she said. “I hope I wasn’t intruding.”

“Then call me Narcissa. And you are most definitely not intruding,” the older witch effused before looking around. “Where’s Lucius?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably hiding.”

Hermione heard Narcissa sigh. “Well, I have to make my rounds. Enjoy the night, Hermione. I hope to see you again.”

Jazz music started to drift across the gardens as soon as Narcissa left. Hermione heard someone clear their throat and turned to see Draco standing beside her. “Dance?”

“I’m a little rusty.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll lead,” he assured her.

They were soon gliding through the dancefloor. Hermione stepped onto his feet a few times at first but immediately got the hang of it eventually. When the music ended, she was about to ask Draco for another dance when the familiar timbre of Lucius’s voice spoke behind her.

“May I cut in?”

Draco smirked in Hermione’s direction before letting go of her hand. “She’s all yours, father,” he said as he leaned in to whisper something in her ear. “Tell him.”

Hermione shook her head as Draco walked away, leaving her standing in front of Lucius. “Shall we?” He asked as he held out his hand. Hermione felt the familiar jolt of electricity course through her the moment their palms touched.

And as if the fates were testing her, the music switched to a much slower one.

Lucius slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her towards him. “I hope you’re enjoying this. I didn’t mean to interrupt your vacation,” he rumbled in her ear as he led her effortlessly around the dance floor.

Hermione can’t help but shiver and said a silent prayer to Merlin that Lucius didn’t notice it. “It’s fine. The wedding was quite lovely.”

“It is,” he agreed. “For a Muggle, he sure knows how to throw a party.”

That got a laugh out of her. “You’re such a snob!”

“I’m just simply stating facts, my dear.”

She can’t help but blush at the endearment, but Hermione noticed his eyes darting around as if looking for someone. “Where’s your date?”

“You seemed to make a habit of accusing every woman I’m with as my date,” he tsk-ed at her. “I assumed you’re referring to the Muggle woman?”

“Francesca, yes.”

“She’s not my date,” he confirmed, his tone a bit annoyed. “I’m not interested in her.”

“Because she’s a Muggle?”

“Because she’s not y—I mean, she’s not my, uh, type.”

Somehow, Hermione had a feeling he’s keeping something from her. She wondered what he was supposed to actually say.

After the first song, their bodies were so closed to touching. By the end of the second, she had her head laying on his shoulder. As the night went on, they got more and more comfortable.

Hermione felt him pull her gently closer as if they weren’t pressed up against each other already. Her eyes were closed, wanting to remain in the moment. The music had changed from a waltz to something even slower, more languid. She was acutely aware of Lucius' hand on the small of her back. It felt like a tether, like he was holding her upright. Like if he let go, she would melt to the floor at once.

A feeling washed over her. At that moment Hermione had to know.

“Lucius,” she began, voice barely above a whisper.

“What is it, Hermione?”

 _I think I’m falling for you. No, wait, scratch that. I think I’m already in love with you._ But she couldn't get the words out.

He smoothed a stray strand of hair along her jawline, behind her ear. Fingertips lingering a moment longer than necessary.

Hermione pulled away slightly so that she could meet his gaze. He had the look of someone who couldn't believe his good fortune. She felt her cheeks grow warm. It was now or never.

She suddenly reached up, anchoring herself on his shoulders as she leaned in and kissed Lucius on the lips. Hermione felt his breath hitched and she decided to press on. When Lucius didn’t return the kiss, she immediately pulled away, a heavy feeling settling on her gut as she saw the surprised look on his face.

 _Fuck! I messed it all up!_ Hermione felt the tears coming up, wishing the ground would open and swallow her before she embarrassed herself further.

“Gods, I’m so sorry, Lucius!” but he only continued to stare at her in disbelief. Had she misread the signs? Were Draco and her friends just messing with her? And now she’d ruined whatever friendship they had. “I’m—I didn’t—I thought—fuck, I’m so sorry!”

She took a step back, intent on running away but the action seemed to shake him out of his stupor. His right hand darted out to stop her. “Hermione—”

“Father!” Both heads turned to see Draco calling out from the other side of the room, his foot tapping impatiently. “Mother and Arnald are leaving!”

Hermione then looked back to Lucius, a torn look on his face. “I should go,” she said miserably. “Please tell Narcissa I said thanks.”

She turned and bolted for the door before he could say anything. Hermione disapparated as soon as she stepped outside the property leaving Lucius staring, a dejectedly look on his face that mirrored hers.


End file.
